


Heaven Sent

by sabbathory



Category: Sally Face (Video Games)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Drug Use, Drunk Driving, Hospital Setting, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, M/M, Modern AU, My First AO3 Post, Rating May Change, Slow Burn, car crash, if I can restrain myself, no beta we die like men, there's no paranormal shit probably, this is entirely self indulgent
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-19
Updated: 2019-01-24
Packaged: 2019-10-12 17:38:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,329
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17471975
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sabbathory/pseuds/sabbathory
Summary: And then it happened – the horrible creaking of metal, the cars wrapping themselves around each other. Sal felt his head connect with his steering wheel, and the world went black for a minute. Next thing he knew he was stumbling out of his car, head in his hands.-baby's first ao3 post!





	1. no good

**Author's Note:**

> hey y'all! i haven't written any fanfiction in like four years, so please be gentle. the title is the name of a song by trophy eyes! it's really good and it makes me think of The Boyes.
> 
> i hope you like it!!

It was late, and Larry should not have been driving home. He’d spent the night out with friends, pounding shots back and stuffing his nose in the bathroom in between. But he couldn’t afford an Uber, and he didn’t want to ask anyone for a ride. Plus, he wasn’t that fucked up. At least that’s what he told himself as he white-knuckled the steering wheel. He didn’t notice when the needle on his speedometer passed 80.

Sal really, really had to get home. It had been a late night at the music store he worked at – someone had scattered guitar picks all over the floor right before closing, and it took almost an hour to find them all. He opened tomorrow. He would be lucky if he got 5 hours of sleep tonight. He didn’t notice when the car approaching him from behind started to drift into his lane.

And then it happened – the horrible creaking of metal, the cars wrapping themselves around each other. Sal felt his head connect with his steering wheel, and the world went black for a minute. Next thing he knew he was stumbling out of his car, head in his hands. He could feel a deep crack in the otherwise smooth acrylic of his prosthetic. He was having trouble seeing out of the eyeholes but as soon as he got a few feet away, he knew he was fucked.

His poor car. It was facing the wrong way, curved around a much larger black truck. In his haze he silently lamented the speaker system he’d just spent $400 to get installed. Apparently, that would be the least of his worries, because just as he brought his hands from his head and saw the blood on them, he collapsed to the ground. The last thing he remembered was a voice saying “Oh, shit!” Were they slurring, or was that just his ears?

-

He woke up in a grey room with the feeling of pressure on his head. More than usual. He tried bringing his hand up to feel what it was, but he was shackled to the bed. He groaned and – wait, what? No, he wasn’t shackled. What the fuck? His arms were just very, very heavy. He was being uncharacteristically calm about this until –

“Sal Fisher?” The voice was female and sweet sounding. His one eye stopped on the source and he noticed the floral purple scrubs she was wearing. Fuck.

Sal did not like hospitals. Not one bit. He’d had an accident as a child and was stuck in one for weeks. Maybe months. He couldn’t remember now. Since then, he’d had a strong aversion to the smell of antiseptic and fluorescent lighting. White walls cast with a sick green light, blue latex gloves, needles… All these things sent him into a delirium. His heart rate picked up, evidenced by the beeping of the monitor by his side. It echoed in his head and his eye shifted around the room, looking for anything to rest on that didn’t remind him of feeling trapped.

“He’s become agitated,” He heard the nurse say. She was quieter now, more muffled. She sounded like she was standing at the other end of a tunnel. He felt something cool press against his arm, and then a pinch. Moments later, his breathing slowed almost involuntarily. His brain became muddled and foggy and altogether too clear at the same time. Yeah, another thing he hated about hospitals: the ability they had to stop you from feeling your own emotions.

“Sal, we’ve given you Ketamine. Can you speak?” Now that he actually looked at the nurse, she was pretty. Her features were round and kind to match her voice. She wouldn’t look him in the eye, for some reason – it was bothering him now that he noticed it, but he couldn’t place why. She was staring at the chart in her hands.

“My face,” He stated dumbly, realizing the issue. There was no border around his vision. The pressure on his head was from bandages – there was nothing to hide his shame.

“We had to take it off to, ah, stop the bleeding. You suffered quite a bit of head trauma, Sal.” This was news to him, but it explained the pounding he felt in the back of his skull. “You can have it back now if you want but you’ll have to take it off when we take your vitals and exams.”

“I understand. I’d like to have it.”

With that, she left. A different nurse returned with it and helped him strap it into place. He was pale and had red hair and an air of formality to him. Sal appreciated it – the sympathy in the other nurses’ eyes was making his skin crawl. He learned that this man’s name was Todd. He learned that he was the kind of guy to have his name embroidered on his scrubs.

He didn’t learn much else about him. He was too busy having being poked and squeezed and told to take a deep breath in, now let it out slowly. His lungs were fine. His body was fine. He just couldn’t move his hands. His prosthetic was cracked as he’d feared but it seemed to be holding up fine despite that.

“Sal, you have someone waiting to see you. Do you want to accept visitors?” He didn’t know who would be visiting him. He didn’t have a good relationship with his dad, and his mom had died in the same accident that took most of his face.

“I-,“ He cleared his throat. “I guess so.”

“You don’t want to know who it is?” Todd quirked an eyebrow. Sal shook his head and stared at his lap. He was sure that whoever it was would be a surprise to him, so who it was wouldn't matter.

Todd left the room and Sal took a second to let out the breath he’d been holding. He hoped Todd would be his regular nurse. He also hoped he wouldn’t be in here long enough to have a regular nurse, but he knew there was something seriously fucked up with his body if he couldn’t raise his arms.

When he heard a deep voice coming from the door, he raised his eyes to meet the stranger in the eyes.

“Shit,” The man said, a look of concern on his face.

His face. Sal was sure he’d died in the crash in that moment, and this was an angel come to take him to heaven. He was tall, thin, with deep purple lakes under dark eyes. His hair was messy and went past his shoulders, brushed back away from his face. He was beautiful.

“Hey. Uh, I’m Larry. I hit your car with my car.”


	2. fine, great

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> trigger warning for self harm mentions! stay safe!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey guys! sorry this took so long - i've been working a lot and typing is hard after work usually, so i can only write small bits after work or full chapters on my days off. i'll try to be faster! thank u to my larry for betaing this! go read his fic !! https://archiveofourown.org/works/17491418 
> 
> also the chapters are gonna be named after songs/lyrics from songs that i listened to while writing so? if you'd be interested in a playlist of them let me know fhdjkhfdsjk

The reality of it all hit Sal like a truck. And apparently, he would know what that felt like. As he stared up at the man who had – probably – fucked up his life permanently, he tried to feel anything except immediate numbness. Was it the meds, or was his brain more messed up than he’d originally thought?

“Can you – can you not talk?” Larry asked, looking uncomfortable. Sal just stared for a while. Neither man moved. Nobody said anything until Sal took a deep breath.

“I can talk.”

“Oh, cool. I…” He looked upset. He was probably genuinely guilty. _Good,_ Sal thought. He should be. Why couldn’t Sal be angrier than this? “What’s with the mask?”

That wasn’t what Sal was expecting. “It’s a prosthetic,” He sighed, almost reflexively. It was a question he got almost daily. Still, he was a little surprised when Larry’s eyes bugged out of his head.

“Did I-“ He sounded like his voice would break, “They didn’t tell me y-your face was hurt. Just your head.”

Oh. Sal had to laugh. It was a bitter sound and it almost hurt coming out. “Don’t flatter yourself. You didn’t do this.” That seemed to shake the taller man back to reality, and he immediately started apologizing profusely.

“Dude. Fuck, man, I’m so sorry. I don’t know what happened.” He did know what happened. Sal could see it in his eyes – shame burning hot and deep. He didn’t comment on it. “I know you probably don’t want anything to do with me but I have to make this right. Please let me make this right. You know, they took away my license? They should have done more. I should be in jail. I got community service. I deserve worse. Please, man, _please_ let me do something. Anything. Do you need money? Hospital bills are expensive. I don’t have much, but—“ And then he saw Sal’s face. Or, his eyes. Eye.

Sal had been staring in silence, letting Larry get everything out as his anger finally built. It helped that when he tried to dig his nails into his palms, he could barely make a fist. He wasn’t someone who yelled, or threw things, or said things they didn’t mean. He almost wished he was. But when he felt the tears welling in his eye and spilling over from his socket, he knew he was done for.

“I don’t want your money,” He spat. His voice was quiet, and it wavered, but it was rich with emotion. He couldn’t bring himself to hate this man for some reason. He was too earnest. He was too real – and he didn’t have that damn sympathy in his eyes that everyone else had when they saw him. Even when Sal was trembling, laid-up in a hospital bed, blanketed in purple bruising, all he saw in Larry’s eyes was guilt. For what he’d done – not for what had been done to Sal by others. Still…He was pissed. “You- You think you deserve to feel better? I don’t even know what’s wrong with me. I haven’t even talked to a doctor about what’s happening and what my future looks like, and you—“ Sal’s voice broke entirely and he paused as a sob ripped out of his chest. “You think you can just come in here and ‘ _make it right?’”_

By this time, Larry had his face in his hands. His shoulders slumped, he curled in on himself. Sal watched this happen through hazy vision, his own small frame now racked with sobs and tremors.

“You’re right,” Was all he said. It was all he could say, and all Sal needed to hear. He let the tears fall freely under his prosthetic and watched as Larry let himself do the same. They were quiet for a while, just looking at each other as Sal forced himself to feel contempt. And then Larry coughed. “You’re right. I don’t deserve to feel better – I don’t deserve your time. But…” He shuffled around in the pocket of his jeans, “If you ever need anything, I want you to know that I’ll do anything for you. You deserve that much after—,” Larry cut himself off, probably before he put his foot in his mouth.

Sal didn’t want this. He didn’t want the last few hours – no, more than that. Days? How long _had_ it been? – to have been real. He didn’t want this complete stranger begging him for forgiveness.

“No. I won’t be contacting you.” Sal usually wasn’t a cold person. His entire life, he’s overcompensated for his intimidating appearance with warmth and kindness. But this… This was too much for him. He couldn’t do this. Still, he took the paper Larry fished out of his pocket and handed to him. He’d just throw it away later – no need to go out of his way to hurt the man’s feelings. It seemed like he had that part covered on his own.

“Alright. I’m sorry. I’m gonna, uh, go.” And he did.

Sal didn’t see him after that. He spent the rest of the days being talked at by doctors in voices that sounded constantly like they were trying to break news gently, even when they weren’t. He tried to listen, he really did, but when he finally understood what was wrong with him, he checked out.

“Sal, you’ve suffered a traumatic brain injury. We’re going to have to run some tests, but is there anything that feels off to you?” Todd asked, tapping his pen against his clipboard as he spoke.

He’d immediately thought of his arms. His hands. They felt weak, like he'd just woken up after sleeping on them all night. So he told the truth, and Todd had held out a hand, gentle eyes full of concern.

“Squeeze my fingers as hard as you can – don’t worry about hurting me.” And so Sal did. And Todd didn’t bat an eye when he burst into angry tears again.

“They- they’re not supposed to be…Like that. I was strong, man.” His voice was cracking and he spoke through clenched teeth, fists held loose in his lap. He glared at them. “How do I fix this? How do I go back?”

“Well, you can build your strength back up with physical therapy, but before we can even discuss that we need to make sure nothing else is wrong. Let’s see if we can get you out of this bed. That’ll be the first test, okay? We’re gonna see if you can walk.”

Sal nodded, swiping at his eye through the eyeholes of his prosthetic. He felt pathetic, sobbing openly in front of all these strangers like he had. It was a stressful situation, though. He could admit that much.

He swung his legs over the side of the bed easily, and stood up like it was nothing. Too fast, even. Definitely too fast – the floor was coming up to meet him and just before he could hit it with his face, Todd wrapped an gentle hand around his elbow.

“It’s going to be a while. Take your time. You can do this.”

How was he so positive? How was he so kind? Sal supposed it must be some special doctor training.

His legs protested, but he got up again. Slowly. And he took a few shaky steps forward. And then he crumpled again. “ _Fuck_!”

“That’s enough. That’s good – you can walk. You can build that strength back up, remember?” Sal nodded, grateful for Todd helping him back to the bed.

After that, Sal had pretty much zoned out for the rest of the day as doctors filtered in and out, taking his blood and listing off meaningless bodily functions that still worked. From what he understood, he was completely fine aside from his strength and coordination.

His coordination had never been good, though – living with one eye would do that to you. He had no depth perception and it was something he had to train into himself to learn to drive. He’d always thought the first crash he’d be in would be something minor, and it would fully be his fault.

He laughed without humor at the thought. Good thing he was alone in his room.

The next few days passed by in generally the same way. Sal’s hands began to itch for his guitar more and more each day that passed. He didn’t know what kind of shape it was in – it was in his car, and he was kind of afraid to ask what happened to his stuff. He’d barely had the guts to call his work and let them know what’d happened. They were understanding and let him know that they’d have him back as soon as he was ready.

Sal really loved his job. It wasn’t his dream – never was – but it was a good middle-ground, he thought. With his face, he’d never be a famous musician, but teaching kids to play guitar at the shop made him feel like one. He missed it.

Every night he’d think of music. He’d think of how he was losing his callouses and how he didn’t know if he’d ever be able to play – really play – again. He’d think of his coworkers and how at the end of the night, if they finished early, they’d have a short jam session in the back. He missed it.

There wasn’t much else he missed. Being here kept him from obsessing over his appearance. On nights like these, when he was deep in his feelings, he was ashamed to admit he reached for the knife. Anything to get his mind off what he was seeing. He knew it was all in his head, but that almost made it worse. Like he wasn’t safe even there.

He shook the thought away and went back to trying to sleep. It never came easily to him, and it’d only gotten worse since the accident. Probably something to do with the setting – he hadn’t been in a hospital since his childhood. He hadn’t really even been to the doctor much since then, only going when his eye needed a deep cleaning. He’d been taught to take care of himself from a young age.

He dreamed of a stranger with warm brown eyes and large hands and the sound of bones cracking.

 

Sal awoke with a start, heart in his throat. Nothing about the dream was particularly panic inducing – overtly unnerving, maybe, but not startling. Still, he buried his hands in his hair and tugged hard, trying to ground himself. It was an old trick – he wasn’t sure now where he learned it, but it worked. His breathing slowed to a normal-ish pace and he stopped trembling, at least. A nurse poked his head in.

“Sal? Are you having trouble sleeping?” They asked him this every time he woke up in the middle of the night.

“No,” He said a third time. He didn’t want to give himself an opportunity to have a nightmare. If that meant he wouldn’t sleep, then so be it. That had been his mindset since he could remember.

“Alright. Call one of us in if you need anything.” He sounded irritated. Sal could understand. He knew what it was like to offer someone help they obviously needed only to be turned down out of pride.

“I will. Thanks,” He added, feeling a twinge of guilt. The nurse left, sliding the curtain back closed behind him.

Sal was lonely. He didn’t want to admit it, but it was true. He enjoyed talking to Todd, but he was used to having people around that had similar interests – working at the music shop had spoiled him that way. He didn’t really have any actual friends – nobody he’d feel comfortable with asking to come keep him company, anyway. He wished he did – someone to bring him his stuff, at the very least. He missed wearing pants. He never thought he’d say it, but he did.

The hospital gown didn’t suit him, with its dotted print and barely-bleached-out stains. He picked at the hem, worrying his lip between his teeth underneath his prosthetic.

He knew it was dumb, but some small part of him wanted to call Larry. He didn’t know the guy, but something had made him keep that piece of paper that day. He did say he’d do _anything…_ And bringing Sal some things didn’t really seem like that big of a deal in comparison to Larry offering to pay his hospital bills

Moments later, Sal was fumbling with his phone in one hand. Typing was slow. Everything was slow. He almost couldn’t do it. He almost gave up. But after what felt like a solid 20 minutes, he was hearing the ring. His heart raced – he was never someone who talked on the phone, always a texter. It was easier, especially when his voice came out muffled. He had his face unclasped, pushed up to free his mouth.

On the fourth ring, Sal almost gave up. Then he heard a click, and a grunt.

“Hello?” Larry asked, groggy from sleep. Sal felt bad for a millisecond, and then he remembered.

“Hey, Larry. It’s Sal – you hit my car with your car, remember?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> eek let me know what y'all think! i made a blog for fanfic because i am a fool! come talk to me at https://sabbathory.tumblr.com/ ! i would love to hear from you. 
> 
> please leave kudos and comment if you enjoyed! constructive criticism is always welcome!

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading! if you liked it i'd love it if you commented and left kudos. it'll motivate me to write more! that first paragraph is probably gonna be the only part in larry's pov. i just write better from sal's!  
> if there's any mistakes, anything that bothers you about it at all, please let me know! i'd like to improve.


End file.
